


Broken Branches

by TerresDeBrume



Series: AUs without a cause [26]
Category: Lord of the Rings, Pacific Rim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Since he came back from Mordor, Boromir notices almost everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Branches

**Author's Note:**

>  So I got a super lovely comment on  _Belfalas Rim_ and the weak writer that I am couldn’t resist the blatant offer to develop this verse a little more. So there. There might or might not be more in this ‘Verse at some point, idk.

“He’s starting to suspect something.”

 

Faramir’s attention snaps from Eomer’s frowning face and back to Boromir, hunched around his Bolognese as his gaze darts around the room, trying to take everything in at the same time.

His cheeks feel hotter than they should as he asks:

 

“Suspect what about what?”

“The hearts in your eyes,” Boromir says, pausing to narrow his eyes at two mechanics engaged in a playful fake fight, “and your grin when she’s here.”

 

Faramir throws a glance toward the door Eowyn exited from, feels sweat beading on his forehead until he remembers Boromir doesn’t look at him anymore.

Boromir hasn’t looked at him since he came back from the war –at first, Faramir thought he’d become like their father, until he started paying attention and realized the only other person Boromir didn’t bother watching was President Elessar, the only other surviving member of Boromir’s unit.

These days, Faramir would actually feel worried and vaguely hurt if his brother started paying too much attention to him.

 

“I’m not that obvious,” he protests with more petulance than he’d like creeping into his voice. “I’m a grown man and I can have discreet crushes, thank you very much.”

 

Boromir’s cursory glance and raised eyebrow clearly beg to differ –if Faramir is asked, he will swear up and down that someone pushed the heating up, but he still hides his face in his hands, just in case. His voice is muffled when he speaks, peaking at his brother through his fingers:

 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not hallucinating,” Boromir answers as he finishes shoveling pasta into his mouth and chugs down the last of his sparkling water.

 

Faramir hears a grunt that might mean ‘not this’ or ‘not yet’, he can’t tell for certain, before Boromir concludes:

 

“He wouldn’t have noticed you if she hadn’t.”

 

Boromir was never a big talker.

Of course, you can hardly be the son of a man who got elected president three times in a row--and more or less cheated his way into a fourth run--without having some training in public speaking and whatnot, especially not when your father is president of Gondor and refusing to give decent explanation as to _why_ he’s cutting down the Jaeger program… but, well, it was never in Boromir’s nature to talk a lot.

Before the war, he would joke, and sing, he would slap people on the back and laugh with them, share grimaces and little gestures to convey his meaning… serious conversations with him were entirely possible, and always interesting, but never his preferred area. Boromir’s battles were always fought on the field.

 

Only, that was before Boromir took four bullets to the chest and was thought dead for fourteen months, before coming back home to his best friend sitting in the government room of the palace because his father had set himself on fire and jumped from the heights of Minas Tirith.

He speaks even less now than before, regardless of the tone. He barely smiles, and almost never laughs, and there’s something restless and tired in him that wasn’t there before--something that goes beyond the nightmares and terrible memories that he can’t help sharing and caused them to be assigned mandatory therapy before they could be allowed to touch _White Tree_.

 

These days, Faramir does most of the talking.

And joking, and laughing, when he can. Boromir watches--everything, everyone. That makes him a valuable partner because it means he’s often aware of danger or problems before anyone else is, but it’s still a quality many of those who love him would like to see him lose, if he could.

Some day.

 

“Big brother complex,” Faramir mutters instead of voicing his concern, pushing his pasta around on his plate. “Why do I always get the ones with overprotective big brothers?”

 

Boromir, who was watching the rafters, shrugs, then sets his fork down and downs his yoghurt in one large gulp before tapping Faramir’s shoulder.

 

“It’s for us,” he says, and sure enough, immediately after, Hama’s voice rings in the dining hall:

“White Tree! This one’s small, you’re going out for a test run!”

 

Faramir takes a deep breath and finishes the last of his ale before he rises to dispose of his tray.

Boromir, already done with the mundane part of his day, waits for him at the foot of the stairs, intently looking at him for once, with a deep frown on his forehead. Faramir pauses, raises a questioning eyebrow at him… Boromir looks like there are several things he wants to say, but in the end all that comes out is:

 

“Remember today, little brother.”

  

Faramir swallows the panic down and answers Boromir’s thin smile with one of his own.


End file.
